


from eden

by primaveril



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Mark be like [yearns], Pining, happy haechan month, lapslock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:02:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24929632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/primaveril/pseuds/primaveril
Summary: if lee donghyuck truly knew how golden he is, the world wouldn’t stand a chance, mark thinks. if he knew how much he glows, from the early mornings to the late, late nights, he’d crush men under his pinky and own anything he could ever want.“what did my fingers do before they held him? what did my heart do, with its love?” ― sylvia plath.
Relationships: Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Mark Lee
Comments: 8
Kudos: 140





	from eden

**Author's Note:**

> disclaimer? this is a word vomit.  
> happy birthday haechan! this was meant to be finished on june 6th, but my brain will not work if there is a deadline, so i gave up :] but june is still haechan month, so! here it is  
> i hope you enjoy! and dont forget to play this little game i like to call “how many hozier references can i find in this primaveril fanfic?” ;]

he’s golden, mark thinks.

he’s golden in the mornings, when the sheets are still warm and crumpled between their tangled legs, slivers of sunlight kissing the brown skin of his long, long calves and strong thighs. he glows in different shades of copper, of bronze, like an old sculpture of a sun god, breathing softly against mark’s chest, warm puffs of air tickling the older as he blissfully sleeps away. it’s cruel how a person can be this beautiful in their rawest state, cheeks smushed and lips a little dry from the air conditioning, unable to be anything but ethereal and enchanting, and mark loves it. 

mark loves him.

when donghyuck wakes up, it’s like a flower blooming: slow, careful, delicate. it’s heavy eyelids opening once, then closing, then trying again, eyes unfocused and unlit, while his hands mindlessly open, then close into a tight fist, like a young kitten testing its claws. it’s kilometer-long legs stretching as far as they can and curling back into the duvet, chestnut warm skin sprawling and bony knees knocking against mark’s own, chasing the warmth and the comfort. he smacks his lips quietly, and one arm circles mark’s waist, a slow hug that smells like sunlight and cotton and a little like stale deodorant. he tiptoes the line of unconsciousness, a feather-light ballerina with wide shoulders and a silvery tongue, always elegant, always endearing in the littlest ways.

“good morning,” it’s barely a murmur, slurred and groggy, and mark smiles. to himself, mostly, because donghyuck’s eyes are closing again and he’s cuddling up against the older’s ribs, burying his face in mark’s neck, but he can’t control it. oh, he’s so in love.

he loves this donghyuck the most, blurry and sleep-soft and a bit disheveled, because not many people get to see the ace lee haechan like this. others see the glitz and glam, the cat-like eyes and the energetic, infectious smile that beams enough light to power a small town, but not the cuddly and small, the drool and the puffy cheeks. it’s his favorite little secret.

with morning comes duty, though, and they really need to get up and get ready for the day, but it should be illegal to rip donghyuck out of his dreams, even though he’s going to make a cute little face of disappointment and whine in that sweet voice he has (and that he knows will make mark melt all over, like ice cream in the summer heat).

maybe they can afford a few minutes of rest, mark thinks. just for today.

  
  


donghyuck is golden in the afternoon, too.

it’s when they’re all practicing, covered in sweat and grime, muscles aching and mouth dry, and suddenly the blinding practice room lights catch him  _ just right _ , angled and diffused, like sunlight turning water crystalline. he definitely smells strongly, his hair is a mess and he looks exhausted, but his skin is gleaming cinnamon-brown again, and his eyes are so round, so full of starlight and entire galaxies, so endearingly big, mark feels like his tongue swells and his throat locks up. he wants to kiss him, to cradle his face in his palms and simply stare at him for hours until his image is permanently burned behind his eyelids, but mark’s also covered in sweat and smelling like wet dog, and they need to finish this practice session before going back to the dorms, so he settles for yearning and pining and sighing, like he isn’t going to be all over donghyuck in less than thirty minutes.

he seems to shine even brighter when he dances, too, all sharp moves and charismatic faces, moving like he owns the stage and so light on his feet it’s almost soundless. mark prides himself in being one of the main dancers, but donghyuck could easily snatch that title out of his hands if he wanted to; he’s fierce, he’s theatrical, he’s laid back and energetic at the same time, and mark has no idea how he does it, all he knows is he’s entranced, eyes never leaving the younger’s lean figure in the mirror. every step seems effortless and elegant, but his gaze is hard and focused, everything calculated and well thought-out, not one finger moving out of sync with the rest of his body. mark thinks he could watch donghyuck dance forever, especially when they lock eyes in the mirror and the younger softens almost instantly, a little smile and a wink thrown right at mark’s heart, as easily as breathing. 

  
  


at last, he glows in the evening, right when the sun’s just set and the sky is still too blue to fully be nighttime.

the buttery light from the table lamp bathes donghyuck in honey, thick and sickening, sticking to his eyelashes and the curve of his heart-shaped mouth, his skin melting against mark’s lips as they sigh against each other, too many hands and too-tight clothes pressing and pushing and pulling, needy and sweet at the same time. it’s beautiful how he gasps and clings to mark like his life depends on it, and it’s magical how he smiles mid-kiss, lips pink and puffy, an electrical storm brewing right inside mark’s chest, their foreheads touching oh-so-gently. mark wants to write about this, wants to scatter all the words stuck down his throat right on top of donghyuck’s warm skin, wants to murmur everything he loves about him against the seam of donghyuck’s mouth, make him swallow all the adoration he has for the younger, but he feels trapped inside his own shell, too cowardly to say anything. he could fill a billion notebooks with lyrics and rhymes about how donghyuck’s spine curves and about the ridges of his ribs, he could sing of the slope of his neck and the bump of his hipbones, he could tear word after word about each angle of donghyuck’s body, and mark would still feel choked, still have too many thoughts clogging his mind, each and every one of them spinning around the boy in his lap like galaxies around a black hole.

donghyuck whispers mark’s name, fragile and airy, eyes dark enough to swallow the world whole, and he’s so  _ hot _ , he’s burning a million degrees and he might burst if mark doesn’t do anything soon, all tongue and teeth and the gentlest moans vibrating in the damp air as the older nibbles on his neck, careful not to bruise (even if he wants to). he looks like a classical painting, all warm colors and deep browns and yellows, pink blush high on his cheekbones, and  _ god _ , he’s everything the universe could ever need, a star made of flesh and warmth and eagerness, tenderness, clammy hands around mark’s neck and deep in his hair like he might fall off the edge of the world if he doesn’t hang in there.

they could go on for hours, spit-slick kisses and curious touches, the addicting taste of donghyuck’s mouth always pulling mark deeper into him, and mark would get to see his chest, the curve of his ribcage, the constellations of moles dotting his skin, the tiny waist curving down to tinier hips, and  _ down down down  _ until they’re sweating and panting and the earth is spinning slower just so they can savor each touch, each murmur, each plea for more. they’d get drunk off of each other, make too much noise, let everyone hear how much they want  _ this _ , but tonight it’s too gentle, too light, and donghyuck only sighs as mark stops kissing him just to hug him a little closer, a little tighter.

there’s a yearning always nestled on top of mark’s stomach, heavy and constricting, like he won’t see donghyuck ever again, won’t get to hold him like this once more, even if they cuddle and sleep together every night. it feels as if the universe could steal him, snatch him right from mark’s grip, and that thought itself sends a wave of nausea down the older’s gullet, so he always pulls tighter, hugs closer, squeezes the boy in his arms until donghyuck’s giggling and pushing him away, whining about not being able to breathe.

and oh!, sweet donghyuck, would he even know what being rendered breathless really is? does he know, mark wonders, how it feels to have the air punched out of his chest, heart squeezed ruthlessly right behind his ribs, when a boy as bright as the sun exists, glorious like a summer day and always stealing the spotlight wherever he goes? 

does he know, how it feels to still pin after your own boyfriend, because you simply cannot put in words how stunning and wonderful he is?

and good god, does he know how he looks like right now, in mark’s lap, flustered pink and messy, with deep brown eyes and pomegranate lips, a work of art turned human or a human turned work of art, the most beautiful thing mark has ever seen? he’s convinced he doesn’t, he  _ can’t _ know, because donghyuck could rule the world with a smile and the bat of his eyelashes if he knew how much power he holds, and mark would be the first to fall on his knees, to worship him like a dog, to be fuel for the pyre at the edge of the altar if needed.

if lee donghyuck truly knew how golden he is, the world wouldn’t stand a chance, mark thinks. if he knew how much he glows, from the early mornings to the late, late nights, he’d crush men under his pinky and own anything he could ever want.

a soft sigh. a kiss to the crown of mark’s head. his heart is thumping, thumping, jumping so high it’s right below his ear, and sweet, ethereal donghyuck is whispering “ _ you’re everything i’ve ever wanted, baby. _ ” there’s a smile somewhere in that phrase, turning the words sticky and caramelized, warm right against mark’s hair, and of course donghyuck can read his mind, too. mark’s mouth tastes like flowers, like ether and pink lemonade and adoration when he kisses the curve of donghyuck’s neck.

somewhere, he whispers an  _ i love you.  _ it’s against the jugular, and he hopes it pumps the words together with his blood, right down to his heart. he hopes it fills him, he hopes donghyuck feels just like he does, like all his guts are lined with love, thick and warm, and like the weight of the world has been lifted from his shoulders.

maybe donghyuck doesn’t know how golden he is. maybe mark will have to teach him. and, good lord, he will gladly take his sweet time showing donghyuck just how much he shines.

**Author's Note:**

> can you tell i am gay and obsessed with both hozier and richard siken?  
> anyways, really hope you liked this!! i think haechan ace  
> [twt](https://twitter.com/pyuhc) | [cc](https://curiouscat.me/dawnfruits)  
> love you! stay safe!


End file.
